Category: Observed (Page 13 of 24)

Having written previously about local pricing policies and Petco in Union Square, I’d like to make a public note of the following price differences, this time between the (local) Food Emporium on 14th Street, in my apartment building, and the (national) Whole Foods across the street.

Darling brand Clementines, crate

– at Food Emporium: $9.99

– at Whole Foods: $6.99

Bananas, standard (non-organic), lb.

– at Food Emporium: $.79

– at Whole Foods: $.69

Seedless grapes, standard (non-organic), lb.

– at Food Emporium: $4.49

– at Whole Foods: $2.89

When I began living in this neighborhood I griped continuously about how outrageously expensive the Food Emporium was. When Whole Foods opened I rallied in Food Emporium’s defense, since I liked the convenience and selection. But when the premium-priced organic emporium is beating supermarket prices on everyday fruits and vegetables, what is the smart consumer to do?

Whisky (or “whiskey”; see update below) refers to alcoholic beverages that are derived from grains and aged in oak casks. Scotch whisky (or simply Scotch) refers specifically to whiskey produced in Scotland, and which is distilled primarily from malted barley. Bourbon, in contrast, is an American whisky that is at least 51% derived from corn. Canadian, or rye, whiskey typically is 51% or greater rye alongside other grains. And, of course, those with small home distilleries and unspecified grain percentages have a name, too: moonshine.

I am far from a drinker, but I do enjoy a nice glass of Scotch on the rocks, Lagavulin in particular. And as of this past weekend, I’m going to start exploring the world of bourbon as well (Knob Creek was a good introduction). Just don’t reprimand me if you see me ordering it before dinner instead of after.

Update: the wise and observant Ken Schlager points out that the correct spelling (per AP style) is “whiskey” unless referring to “Scotch whisky.” Duly noted and repaired.

Without a doubt, Atlanta has the nicest taxicab drivers I’ve encountered in all my travels, domestic or international.

Imagine if any cabbie in New York offered even two of these nice touches, most of which I had on all three of my rides:

–Opening the passenger door

–A clean, spacious back seat without a partition

–Several of today’s newspapers

–Classical music playing quietly

–Pleasant and unintrusive small talk

–Asked permission to open the windows

–Noticed the passenger making a phone call and temporarily turned off the radio

Really, everyone is nice in Atlanta, even the normally disgruntled airport staff, who don’t have that oh-lord-why dazed emptiness in their eyes, and who actually say things like “pardon me” and “good afternoon” and “thank you.” I’m used to the aggressive rhythms of Manhattan but I can sure see the appeal in this.

I didn’t get to see much of Atlanta today, but I most certainly felt welcome.

It is hard to install a memory upgrade to one’s computer when one recycles the new card’s delivery carton without removing the card from the box.

The Economist: In-car electronics: Cars are now sold on their electronics, not just their mechanics (subscription required). “Horsepower is nice, but processing power is better. That seems to be the motto of the modern car, which is becoming as much an electronic system as a mechanical one.”

Gizmodo: Lexus LS460 Review. The LS460 has wireless roof-mounted tire pressure monitoring, a refrigerator, full back-seat passenger comfort controls, and can parallel park itself.

In comparison, my 1993 Nissan Sentra SE-R was so consumed by capping weight and cost that power windows, door locks and seats weren’t even an option.

Amy: “Oh no! I forgot to put my rings back on before we left the apartment.”

Me: “Do you want to go back up and get them?”

“No, I’ll be okay. It’s just that it’s our anniversary dinner.”

“I don’t mind.” [glances at own ring] “Besides, now it looks like I’m having an affair.”

“Ooh, what will the wait staff think?”

“Doesn’t bother me—my wife knows all about it.”

Thursday: realize car must be moved to an alternate-side parking spot for the next day’s street cleaning. Go home, take dog for night walk, head to car. Pull out of hard-won parking space from the day before.

Turn up Park Avenue South. Stop at light.

Turn right on East 16th Street. Dammit, that guy just got a spot. Stop at light.

Turn right on Rutherford Place.

Turn right on East 15th Street. Stop at light. Stop at next light.

Turn right on Irving Place. Stop at light.

Turn right on 16th again. Maybe that guy isn’t staying. No luck. Stop at light.

Turn left on Rutherford Place.

Turn left on East 17th Street. Stop at light.

Turn right on Irving Place. Stop at light.

Turn right on East 18th Street. Stop at light. Stop at light.

Turn right on Second Avenue. Stop at light.

Turn right on 17th. Think there’s anything new the second time through? Stop at light. Stop at light.

Turn left on Irving. Stop at light.

Turn left on 16th. Damn, the guy in front of me is looking for a spot too. Stop at light. Change strategy.

Turn right on Third Avenue. Stop at light. Stop at light. Cut off a bus.

Turn left on East 12th Street. Stop at light. Stop at light. Why am I driving all the way to Avenue A anyway?

Turn left on Avenue A. Stop at light.

Turn left on East 13th Street. Interrupt threatening gangs glaring at each other across the street. Stop at light. Stop at light. Stop at light.

Turn right on Third Avenue.

Turn left on 15th. Nothing. And it’s starting to get late.

Turn right on Irving. Stop at light.

Turn right on 16th. Stop at light.

Turn left on Rutherford.

Turn left on 17th. Stop at light. Stop at light.

Turn right on Irving.

Fuck it.

Pull into The Irving Place Garage.

Friday: get car from Irving Place Garage. Stop at light. Turn left on 16th Street….

Last stop on our vacation was Rockport, Mass. and Cape Ann. My grandfather settled in Salem when he came to the United States in the 1930s; he used to bring my father and uncle there every summer, and we still go, in his honor and for nostalgic fun.

Once upon a time, we stayed in Danvers at what is now an office building. For the past few years we’ve been in the Quarterdeck at the Yankee Clipper Inn, but this is the last time we’ll be going there. The inn has been on a slow decline ever since the current owner bought the property in 2001. This year, we encountered a green pool, a shortage of food at breakfast, and a “For Sale” sign in front of the Quarterdeck (a separate building with terrific ocean views). In retrospect, our stay wasn’t as bad as it seemed, but it was bad enough to leave people consistently miffed. That plus the suspicion that the inn might not even be there next summer led to a weekend of exploration, and we found a new inn that we’ll be trying in 2007.

Hospitality quibbles aside, the family trip to Cape Ann is always fun. We go swimming and fishing off the rocky coastline, explore the towns of Gloucester, Rockport, Essex and Ipswich, and spend hours playing ball and basically doing nothing. Friday sees us digging into tidepools on Bass Rocks, looking for crabs to race and starfish to stick to our fingers; Saturday we head to Bearskin Neck for shopping, penny candy and the all-family bubblegum-bubble-blowing contest. (This year saw a three-way tie for the lead. I came in second to last as usual.)

The food! Every year we rack our brains for places to eat, and every year we wind up with phenomenal food. Dinner at The Rudder in Rocky Neck is easy, plentiful, and thoroughly enjoyable, and everything from calamari to stir fry is done quite well. Likewise, we fell into Halibut Point for pub food and wound up with good salads, good soup, and a good waitress. Our annual dinner at the 1640 Hart House gets better every year—our food was uniformly excellent, and the servers are starting to remember us, which is a treat.

Deserving its own special mention is Roy Moore Lobster Co. on Bearskin Neck, our standard weekend lunch and hands down the best lobster known to man. The lobsters are brought directly to this fish shack from boats pulling into the harbor, and within hours they are cooked and served with drawn butter on paper platters. No middlemen means complete freshness. Roy Moore boils its lobsters in ocean water, too, which gives the lobsters a unique flavor, sweeter than usual and flat-out delicious. I like lobster but I love Roy Moore’s lobster. Served by the cheery lobsterman surrounded by bays of crustaceans and eaten out back on wooden lobster traps, this meal is one for the ages. I want more already.

We drove home Sunday, so thus ends my travelblog. But I’m off to Paris on business this weekend, and if I find anything interesting….

From the footnotes on the menu at Atria, in Edgartown, Martha’s Vineyard:

“If you are smoking we will assume you are on fire and take the necessary actions.”

“Unsupervised children will be given a double espresso and a puppy.”

I am more than a little pleased to know that, despite my age and a decade of noise-induced tinnitus, I can still hear (easily!) the high pitch “Mosquito” ringtone teens are using to thwart adult supervision.